


Pain-Killers

by ignis_kun



Series: The Greater Gatsbies: The Rangami Chronicles [5]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Grocery Shopping, Hospitals, Intricate Rituals, M/M, Pain, Public Display of Affection, Stabbing, Yeah bitches get stabbed here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27610378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignis_kun/pseuds/ignis_kun
Relationships: Amami Rantaro/Togami Byakuya
Series: The Greater Gatsbies: The Rangami Chronicles [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1984565
Kudos: 9





	Pain-Killers

It's a cold January day. Snow piles atop the streets of England, icy and breath fogging with each person passing by. Tourists, locals, tiny dogs and stray cats roaming the stony streets of Brighton. The tourist beaches cleared, pleasure piers empty and the rocky coastline bringing in more of that winter chill. There’s a bite to the air, frost taking place of the summertime mosquitoes in giving nips and small shivers, though blood does not drain due to frost.

The sea never freezes, Amami and Togami never stop travelling. They need to keep moving from place to place, and they aimed for Iceland but stopped too early. The winds were far too rough to make it further up north, they needed to stop for food and other essentials. They tried to stop as little as possible, residing themselves in drifting place to place. 

Togami has always enjoyed winter, yet, he's enjoyed it more when he's inside. Inside sitting by a fireplace, watching the snow from outside. Certainly not when he's out here absolutely freezing his skin off and shivering like a lost puppy. Why did Amami decide on such a cold place? Why didn't they go down to Florida or the Bahamas? Australia where it was summer? As much as he hates the idea of dealing with the kind of comments he and Amami have gotten from Americans, it's better than standing in a freezer and losing all sense of feeling in his hands due to the cold. 

The fluorescent lighting of the Tesco is their only restitution. He's never been in a grocery store before he started travelling with Amami. Someone always did that for him. Another one of the many changes that have been brought from this little excursion (more accurately described as a runaway stint, neither of them told anyone they were leaving, neither of them has picked up any calls from home, they threw away their old phones after backing up anything important. They lay at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. They're considered missing persons. Six years and they'll be considered legally dead).

He's in a Tesco. Pharmaceuticals aisle. It's eight-thirty p.m. Outside is pitch black, little white flecks dancing in the air in the bit of light that streams from the large glass window. 

Amami holds a rather large bottle of ibuprofen. Both of them are shamefully and intensely hungover. Togami didn't know a person could get this awful of a headache from wine alone, but he knows better now. They did finish a whole bottle (somehow). The wine wasn't even good, it was absolutely shit by his own standards. They bought it at some rundown liquor store in France, one of the more expensive bottles that surely was not worth the price (when asked for ID, Togami had a few questions about why Amami presented an ID reading "Joji Hayashita" instead of his actual name, and why he was posing as a 22-year-old at the age of nineteen. Why did Amami have a fake ID? Where did he get it?). Togami vaguely mentioned he enjoyed red wine, and Amami bought it for him. 

"You alright with this?" He holds the bottle out for Togami to hold in his hands. He can barely read the label, he's exhausted. His hands are still red and frostbitten from the outdoors. He left his gloves back on the boat. He should have brought his gloves. He wasn’t aware England was so cold.

He stares the bottle down for a moment, reading the label over and over again. 

"Aspirin."

Amami nods, placing the bottle back on the shelf and scrolling through the labels, muttering something to himself. It seemed like whenever he spoke to himself, he defaulted to anything but Japanese or English. Spanish, French (which Togami could understand) or Russian seemed to be most common. An odd blend of languages that sounded like gibberish some of the time. 

He combs back some of his hair. It's gotten annoyingly long. It feels dirty. He refuses to let Amami cut it. He found a set of photos detailing Amami wearing hats, hair always covered and pushed back into the hat, sometimes a bit of green-tipped black hair poking through a beret or touque. When asked, Amami gave a rather simple explanation.

_  
"Oh, that?"_ _He chuckles,_ _"Gave myself an awful haircut. Choppy, dye was patchy…. pretty big mess."_

Togami would not like to meet the same fate. He made the decision after that point to never allow Amami near his head with any kind of scissors.

Before he knows it, another bottle is passed to him. Larger than the last. Red label this time. Finely written, yellow small text grazing the bottom of the label.

_ <<C'est bien?>> _

Aspirin. He nods. Amami returns the gesture, keeping the bottle in his hands.

He’s noticed Rantaro speaks to him in French more often now that he’s mentioned it’s a language he knows. Sometimes he speaks to him in Chinese as well. An important language he’s only used for business purposes up until this point. 

"You know if we need cold medicine? We out?"  
  


Why cold medicine of all things?

“We don’t.” 

Amami nods, continuing down the aisle without choosing anything else. He’s slow to walk, painfully slow Togami thinks. He’s taking his time, getting distracted by the little things. His attention never seems to stay in one place for too long, he wouldn’t be surprised that despite Amami listening in rather well to people, that his mind wanders to different places at times. He can change topics rather quickly as well. He’s seen him go from talking about a certain painting with Angie to then moving to Japanese food near immediately. He can keep up with that rapid-fire energy, he has a bit himself. His thoughts resemble a scatterplot more than a finely kept chart.

Togami? Well, he prefers to take things steps at a time. Fully discuss a topic before moving to the next. Keeping things organized. He sticks to one language at a time, he moves like a steady train rather than how flighty Amami is. It’s not in a hyperactive sense, however.  
  
Something has caught his eye. Amami moves to the next aisle, and Togami simply stays behind him. Amami mutters a few words to himself in a thick and heavy accent, then walks down the rows of processed food items, but his voice does not cease. A thought comes to Togami’s mind.    


Togami believes Amami fits the American trope of the Russian spy quite well. Multiple languages, well-travelled, suspicious tendencies and careful observation, as if he’s tracking the movements of the people around him at every turn. He wasn’t the most trustworthy of all figures. Regular suspicious behaviour and constantly voiding information contributes to that image, Though Amami’s eyes are, for the most part, focused on idly looking at the shelves before them, he notices him eyeing the employees or the people close to them every so often. 

All he needs is a thick Russian accent. He can vividly imagine Amami saying something like  _ “I swear, I’m not a bad guy.”  _ or  _ “Me? No, I’m just here for a little vacation, y’know? You can’t judge a guy on his passport, just like seeing what the world’s got to offer.” _ Amami could easily fit the role of the man on the other side of the glass in an interrogation room. The type of guy that’s just charismatic enough to avoid suspicion, but suspicious enough to catch the careful eye.    
  
He watches him in the fluorescent lighting, slowly walking down the aisle, fidgeting with the Asprin bottle in his hands. His nails are unpainted for once. It’s near unnatural to observe them as so, and the smell of acetone clings to him, mixed with sea salt. The light seems to cast a halo when it reflects off his hair, faint against the light green. Bracelets loosely wrap around his wrists, some made with cords other with woven string. Did Amami make them himself? Considering his other tendencies, bracelet making isn't out of the question. He has sisters too he knows now. Would he sit down with them, making dumb little friendship bracelets? 

For some reason, he can see it.

With the topic of careful handwork, his mind lingers back to Amami playing guitar. He remembers watching the way his hands moved, pressing down on strings, a small hum from him. Amami was not the best singer by any standard, but his voice had an appealing bit of roughness that paired well with the hum of the strings. It was relaxing, though he never commented on his playing afterwards. He stayed silent, staring onto the starry sky finding no real meaning in it as his bo-... friend’s voice filled the air. Calming, safe. It reminded him a bit of why it was he even packed his bags in the first place. 

Were they friends? Was that what he should call them? Do friends have heated make-outs in the depths of the night? No. No, they really don’t. 

It made him think of Alice in Wonderland for some odd reason, the song. It almost felt like the song was sparkling as if it were meant to be played on harp instead of the metal strings of a guitar. Would Amami take up harp or lyre? It could pair well with the cords of violin or piano, two instruments he's well versed in. It was expected of him to learn an instrument, so he learnt two. 

He always seemed so content while playing the instrument, a small smile always cracked. He wasn’t ignorant of the fact that even if he smiled a lot of the time, Amami was not a happy person in the slightest. He's experienced his late-night awakenings to believing someone else I on the boat, his thinly disguised paranoia when walking into alleys and the slight air of distrustfulness when speaking to authorities or anyone, really.   
  
But still, he seemed happy simply plucking away at strings. It’s one of the few things that he’s seen Amami fully enjoy and immerse himself in. His voice doesn’t completely grate against his ears either. It’s not unpleasant by any means.   
  


The rabbit hole digs itself further with every word they share. Both of them are Alice, tripping into the rabbit hole and floating through whatever life brings. They’ve gone through the tiny door and entered Wonderland, together.

Or maybe Amami’s like the rabbit. Guiding him through, knowledgeable about the world already. Togami himself, chasing after him and trying to get a taste of that world. Togami would not describe whatever it is they have going on, as Togami chasing him. He's not sure how he'd describe it.

It’s useless thinking about it for too long. Alice and Wonderland is fiction, and this is reality. There is no rabbit hole, only the pale, ghostly lights of the grocery store. Amami, despite his namesake, is no rabbit. He is no Alice.

How deep the rabbit hole goes here.

He’s focused on the careful movements of Amami’s hands rather than what’s in front of him, he doesn’t know what aisle they’re in. He's simply studying them, tracing the small lines of veins and scars with cerulean blue eyes. Damaged from rope, calloused from guitar, scars from trips gone wrong. Living, breathing. Life speaks through every part of him, even when he looks so dead tired.

“What do you want to eat tonight? I think there’s a recipe you’d like... You’ve mentioned you don’t mind spice, right?”

His eyes finally wander up to Amami's face and shoulders, slightly obscured by the puff of a jacket hood and the tightly woven fabric of the wool sweater he wears beneath. A turtleneck.    
  
“No. I don’t.”    
  
He looks up at last. They’re in the sweets aisle. Amami is holding a large stack of chocolates sorting through them before placing one of the chocolates on top, staring at it for a few seconds.    
  
“I’m not cooking dinner with this, don’t worry.” He explains "We don't need this anyway."    
  


All but one bar, the one he had placed on the top, is placed back. Amami has always had a slight bit of a sweet tooth for dark chocolate. It's one thing both of them enjoy. 

_ “A little treat isn’t bad once and a while.” _ Amami would always say. Down another aisle they go. _  
  
_

Cosmetic aisle.    
  
Togami’s learnt what Amami buys by now. He isn’t worried in the slightest about Amami cooking with makeup. He watches him pick up the usual things, eyeliner, concealer to cover up the bags under his eyes (though Togami believes he looks better without it, his freckles show up better with nothing covering them, but to each their own), nail polish. Always black or grey or some colour Togami knows for a fact he’ll never use just because he thought it “looked nice” or the colour looked better in the superstore lights. 

Amami picks out a dark blue. He’s only ever seen him actually wear analogous colours, with the exception of the one time he’s seen him wear a mint green. That was his last night at Hope’s Peak. Amami offered to take him out to the docks for a boat ride, but he denied it. He denied it vehemently. 

How times have changed. 

Amami stops for a moment, staring at the shade for a few moments, then Togami.

“What do you think of it?”   
  
He usually doesn’t ask.   
  


Amami looks down at his hands as he takes the bottle, and he knows why he’s asking now. Nail polish is something Togami would never indulge in. It’s not a habit he plans on picking up, he can’t imagine it being pleasant with how much he (shamefully) bites his own nails. The smell of nail polish remover gives him a headache. Every time Amami uses it he has to open a window or go outside for fresh air.

Royal blue. Very funny.

“If you’re asking for me,” he huffs,  “No, never.”   
  
He places the bottle back into Amami’s hand.

“It would look just fine on you though. Most things do.”   
  


“Was that a compliment?"

"Don't make me take it back."

Amami chuckles, "Alright then."

The bottle is placed back on the shelf, along with the rest. Was he really just picking it out for him? He should know that he doesn't wear nail polish by now. He's never shown any interest in it other than perhaps looking at Amami's hands, but it's more about the skin than the nail.

“Say, Togami,” he hums for a moment, holding one of the black bottles, “Think we should get a hotel tonight?” 

The answer is almost instant.

“Yes.”   
  
The thought of staying in that boat while this storm rages on makes him uneasy. It sounds unpleasant, like a death wish or a wish for no sleep. The cold wind blows in during the night due to Amami’s insistence on keeping a window open. There have been times where it's turned into an argument, ending with Amami getting more blankets for him or the window being kept half-open. A compromise, usually proposed by Amami.

In hotels, however, both of them found more comfort in a soft mattress and clean pressed sheets. Only one window open, the two of them together, soft breath beside each other despite the fact they always get two beds. They always share the one, or one of them finds themselves wandering over to the other’s bed due to lack of sleep or just plain comfort.

That’s all it was for. Comfort. That’s it, nothing else. 

The next, and final aisle of note that Togami can remember is aisle seven. Coffee. He’s looking for something in particular when Amami comes up from behind him. He knows it’s him, he’s certain the rest of the store is dead by this hour. He hasn’t seen any workers walk down the aisles. He comes up from behind him and wraps his arms around his waist.

Togami absolutely freezes but doesn’t move. He barely acknowledges it beyond a hand placed atop Amami’s. There’s some kind of difference between having this happen in public versus the many times it’s happened in private. When he read Amami would place his head on his shoulder. When they were watching something together there would be a hand around the waist. If Togami looked troubled it was always a hand on the arm or shoulder. He was like a magnet. 

They’re acting like a  _ couple.  _ It’s something he doesn’t want to admit, something he’s hidden under thinly blanketed layers of “just friends” and the excuse of casual affection just being for comfort or for body heat. They didn’t talk about things in the morning. They pretended like it meant nothing to them. He didn’t know if this meant anything to Amami or he just viewed him as a friend, be he had never seen him be this touchy with a friend.

Is he ok with it? 

He shouldn’t be. He really shouldn’t be. Is it alright to? He does what he pleases, but there are certain exp-

No expectations anymore. 

His mind is nearly blank as he silently picks up a bag of coffee beans, passing them over to Amami.   
  
“You sure?”    
  
“Yes.”   
  
Togami stays oblivious to the fact he picked a coffee that he would certainly hate and once Amami’s arms leave his waist that he swaps it out for a different kind.

The doors open and the cold filters through again, hitting his face like dozens of pins. He pulls up his scarf a bit to cover the rest of his neck. 

"Cold?"

Togami shoots Amami a look and sees a pair of gloves held out for him. Black, leather, warm interior surely expensive. /he remembers seeing him wear them earlier/

"I don't need it."

"Just take them Togami."   
  


It's only a short, partly silent walk down the road before Amami’s voice fills the air again.   
  
“I wanted to talk to you about someth-”    
  
Someone bumps into Rantaro, they utter a small apology to one another, Rantaro goes pale, and before Togami knows it, Rantaro is chasing them, and there's some yelling. He disappears into the crowd, into the swarm of people, leaving Togami alone. It’s the first time Rantaro’s left his side while they were in the city during their travels. He's lost him to the crowd.

And Togami acts on impulse. In any other situation, he'd think this out more, but something guttural compels him to chase after the little red dots like-

Like Alice. Alice with the rabbit. 

He can read the room. He's going after him, and he wants an explanation.

As he wafts around the tightly packed crowd, he notices something.. _ Blood. _ There's blood dotting the snowy streets, specks of red on plain white sheets, a white towel after dyed hair or cleaning up blood. 

Though person by person Togami weaves through the ground, picking up on the little dots. There’s a woman on the phone, and he vaguely hears the words “police”, “where?” and other small bits of conversation that he doesn’t listen to. Every person seems like another obstacle, another wall, he bumps into an especially rude man who curses him out before he tells him to get out of the way. 

He follows the trail, slowing his steps once he comes to an alleyway. He has enough common sense not to lurk down alleyways filled with blood, it's the dumbest idea anyone could have come up with, but when he hears a near-silent curse from where he is by a familiar voice, he makes his way down the snow-covered alcove.

There's Amami, picking something up off the ground, half limping. A figure quickly runs down the alley, only a shadowed figure in the pale light of the moon and the warmer streetlights. Amami breathlessly looks over. 

"Don't worry, got it back."

He holds up his wallet like he’s won a great trophy, letting out a small chuckle, but the brown leather isn't what Togami is looking at.

There is blood all over Amami's hands. His other hand is gripping his stomach. He's still breathing, albeit heavily. 

"You're bleeding."

"Don't worry, it's fine. Just got into a little scuffle."

"Let me see."

"What?"

"Stop covering it."

The wound on his stomach indicates much more than a little scuffle. There's much more blood than Togami expected. Crimson laces Amami's hands, syrupy blood dripping to the ground, staining cold rings and tanned skin. 

"You need to go to a hospital, Amami."

**_"No._ ** " Amami's expression suddenly turns intense, shaking his head before leaning over again,  "No... I'm not going to a hospital. No. I don’t need to."

Is Amami brainless? He's been stabbed in the stomach, he’s bleeding out onto the snow, he’s holding his stomach for dear life and he’s gritting his teeth in pain. A hospital is a logical decision here.

"Can't risk the paper trail. Don't want to." "Amami, are you dull? An idiot? You care more about a paper trail than bleeding to death?" "I won't bleed to death, it’s shallow, I’ve dealt with this before I know ho-” "You have? Do you just go off getting stabbed at every turn?” “Togami. I am _fine._ I don’t need you worrying over nothing. I can treat this myself.”   
  
"I'd rather be worried for nothing than find you dead in the morning."

Amami lets out a shaky breath, fog clouding up by his mouth and his comment shuts him up quite well, whether it was intentionally supposed to or not. For a moment, Togami is focusing on the white of the snow instead of the red dotting it. The pale skin with freckles, rosy, cold cheeks instead of the stained snow and the fact he might die in some alleyway because of an untreated stab wound.

The words fell out of his mouth far too quickly, far too naturally. 

“It would be.. inconvenient for both of us.”

A heavy silence fills the air, and Rantaro smiles. Togami can’t begin to comprehend why he’d be smiling at a time like this, how he can laugh or if he's gone completely insane. Had he inhaled too much nail polish remover? Or has he just gone mad off of adrenaline?

“It would help you to be more straightforward, Togami-kun.”   
  
Says him.

His expression falls, and he grips his own stomach. Another jolt of pain he assumes. Empathy has never come easily to Togami, but he knows Amami is in pain, and he can bring himself to care. It’s Amami after all. If he died here, it _ would _ be inconvenient for both of them.

“I need your scarf,”  Amami holds out his hand,  “I know it’s cold outside but it would help something to control the bleeding.”   
  
_ “Amami.” _   
  
“Togami.”  He keeps his hand out,  “Even if we do go to the hospital, or call an ambulance, or something it’s going to take a bit. I have to do something in the meantime.”   
  


“I can’t even feel it, it’s fine. I just…” More puffs of white smoke,  “I just need something to stop it for now.”

Togami, hesitantly, hands the scarf to him, and Amami takes it almost instantly.   
  
He sits down, in this rundown alleyway, right in the snow. He lets out a deep, shaky breath as he settles on the ground, keeping one hand on his stomach, pressing down on the open wound with the scarf handed to him, bunched up to create almost    
  
“I’m going to give you my wallet,” He holds out the leather fold-wallet to Togami,  “You need to go inside and buy some bandages for me. We’ll get a hotel, and I can patch myself up.”    
  
“I don’t need a handout. And you don’t think that you’re going to be asked why you’re covered in blood? Are you looking for a call to the authorities? Are you thinking?” 

Amami sighs. 

“I really haven’t been lately, have I?”   
  
He brings one of his knees up. He’s starting to slouch a bit. Togami at this point is leaning over him a bit. 

"I’m sorry. For leaving you alone back there.”   
  
Amami’s taken hold of Togami’s hand with one of his own. His hands are so stained, so bloody, so cracked, calloused and scarred but still, somehow have some lingering warmth. The blood is on his hand now too. Togami is no stranger to the sight of blood, but he’s always despised the smell. Something about it, he always wants to gag afterwards, no matter how much he sees. It’s just the same here. 

Amami gives his hand a little squeeze,  “I should have never let you out of my sight. It’ll never happen again.”  He brings his forehead to Togami’s hand, leaving it there for a while, never ceasing his hold between.    
  


After five, ten minutes, somewhere around there, Togami lost track of time rather quickly, Amami finally tries to get up but finds himself in a great amount of pain, and finally tells Togami the British Emergency Number. 

  
  


* * *

It’s hard to remember where he is until Rantaro takes a good look around, and breathes in the air. The faint sound of beeping from another room and people passing down the halls fills the air. Small chatter between nurses and the muffled voice of the patient next door.

When had Togami fallen asleep on his lap? How long had they been here? Amami can’t quite place it at first, lightheaded from the pain killers. His hands are barren of their rings, and when he looks over with only some slight irritation from the pounding of his head, he sees them laying on the side table, along with the jacket and shirt he was wearing. He can barely remember anything that happened last night, everything seems scrambled as soon as the moment he sat in the snow is remembered. 

Thank British laws, free emergency healthcare. Had they got caught up in this situation elsewhere, they’d be in deep water and medical bills. They could pay them, but still, the paper trail that even this is leaving makes him anxious. They’d have to get far away from here again. Maybe going south was a better idea. Australia? It would take a while, but it would be warmer there. 

Canada? Just a little row across the big pond, but one that would take a while. Brazil? He’s not sure if Togami would like it, and that would take even longer. Italy? Yeah, Italy sounds good. It’s uncomfortably close, but a good start.    


He feels so heavy. He’s breathing, he’s present, but it feels like his mind is somewhere else. He’d assume he would have grown used to this by now, but he hasn’t. The walls feel so small, and it feels as if they could collapse on him any sections. It’s far too easy being in Togami’s position. Visiting someone unwell. Feeding tubes, ventilators, heart monitors. “A bad flu”, “Pneumonia”, “maybe Cancer”. It seems like every time he visited they gave a different explanation as to why his mother hadn’t gotten better, or what exactly she was suffering from. Her pale, bony hands that he had once known warmly as hers and her slightly crooked smile through the ventilator. 

He’s on none of that here. Just an IV and he can feel the bandage on his stomach. He hates the IV. He doesn’t like the idea of them, but he’ll just have to deal with it right now. 

Amami wants to get out of here as soon as possible. If it were his choice he would have gotten stitched up and left right away, but due to the amount of blood he lost by delaying the hospital visit for so long, he’s stuck here for a bit longer. He can’t remember how long he spent in that alleyway, Togami’s scarf on his abdomen and his hand in his own. He’s certain he pressed his forehead to it at some point, his grip heavy on the scarf and the adrenaline finally beginning to wear off, only leaving searing pain in its place.

He threads his hands through Togami’s hair, bringing out a section near the front. It would be easy enough to take out if he didn’t like it. Why not? He splits the section into three, beginning to lightly twist them together. It’s been a long time since he’s braided someone’s hair, a year to be exact. Nika, when he found her, had let him braid it for her graduation. He’s glad he didn’t miss it, he wouldn’t want to. He’s glad she’s happy, but finding her brought the possibility that not all his sisters would want to come home after all this time into his mind.

He focuses back on Togami and the golden locks that lay in his hands like soft hay. He’s never seen Togami sleep this heavily. Any other day he would have woken up by now and would have asked what he was doing with his hair. As he combs through, he wishes he had those elastics he bought. Did Togami still have the bags?    
  
He finishes the braid off, leaving it loose at the end and reclining as far as the pillows would allow him, letting out a deep sigh as he looks up at the ceiling. Dotted, feels too low. The window is too small. He feels trapped in like he’s at a run-down hostel. He’s been to them before, they aren’t pleasant. Only here it’s much cleaner. He can smell a bit of the cleaner in the air. 

He closes his eyes again, smiling. He could easily lul back asleep with his hands tangled in Togami’s hair, softly rubbing against his scalp. 

Not exactly the hotel they expected, wasn’t it?


End file.
